It’s nice to get away for a few days to see friends, laugh at old stories, catch up on current events, and eat at a couple of favorite restaurants. It’s also nice to get home, sleep in your own bed, and curl up in your comfy chair. Do you feel the same way? Loving to leave, but ready to return?
I do. I did just yesterday. Apparently, I have a very complicated relationship with contentment. But I don’t think I’m alone in this.
The truth is, we are remarkably good at being content—until we start thinking about other options.
When we’re home, we think it would be nice to get away. When we’re away, we start thinking about our own bed. When I’m home. I want to go somewhere. When I’m somewhere, I’m ready to go home.
We sit down in our favorite chair and, five minutes later, wonder if we should get up and make a cup of coffee. We make the coffee and then wonder if we should’ve grabbed something to go with the coffee.
We curl up with a good book, and realize we left the phone in the other room (that one happens to me often). We go get the phone and begin looking at texts or emails or whatever, and forget the book.
When the weather is hot, we want it cooler. When it’s winter, we’re ready for summer. When it rains, we wish it were sunny. When it’s sunny, we find ourselves saying that we need rain. There must be a temperature that is just right. Unfortunately, no two people have ever agreed on what that temperature is.
We go to a restaurant and spend ten minutes studying the menu, trying to decide what we want. Finally, we order. And almost immediately, someone at the next table gets their food. That looks really good. Why didn’t we order that?
We are remarkably talented at being dissatisfied with perfectly good things.
Paul wrote in Philippians 4 about learning to be content in whatever circumstances he found himself. That’s an impressive achievement. I’m not quite there.
I’m encouraged that Paul says he’s “learned” to be content. He’s acknowledging that he wasn’t born that way. He’s hinting that contentment doesn’t come naturally. It takes time and commitment. It’s practiced.
But perhaps there’s something worth noticing in all of this. Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be good. The trip can be wonderful, and home can be wonderful too. The restaurant meal can be delicious even if someone else’s looks better. And this ordinary day, with all its little inconveniences and imperfections, doesn’t have to be extraordinary for us to give thanks for it.
Maybe contentment begins when we stop waiting for everything to be just right. Maybe we can look forward to what comes next without failing to appreciate what is happening now. Maybe contentment doesn’t mean we stop wanting change. Maybe it means we stop believing that the next thing will finally make us content.
And maybe the first lesson is simply this: Notice what you have.
Give thanks for where you are. And let today be enough.
Today’s “Pondering” is this: What if today doesn’t need to be better, different, or more convenient to be a good day?
Prayer: God, thank you for the ordinary gifts of this day … for family and friends, the place I call home, the food I enjoy, the comfortable chairs, the laughter, and even the things that don’t go quite the way I planned. Help me notice the good that is already here. And give me the grace to enjoy it before I start wondering what might be better. Amen.
